


To hell and back

by Nival_Vixen



Series: Incubus and Werewolf [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Aftermath of Torture, Anal Sex, Complete, Derek and Stiles are Dorks, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Dorks in Love, F/M, Hell, Hellhound Jordan Parrish, Incubus Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, M/M, Panic Attacks, Police Officer Derek Hale, Series, Star Wars References, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Tail Sex, Vampire Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6246913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has finally been released from hospital, the veterinary clinic's been ransacked, and Deaton's missing.</p>
<p>The whole 'portal to Hell' thing that Stiles saw in the hospital was probably just a hallucination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Four days later_

 

"Welcome home, son. You're looking better than the last time I saw you," the Sheriff said, hugging Stiles firmly.

 

"Feel better," he replied with a brief smile. "Melissa deserves a raise with the amount of times she's had to take care of me this month alone, and the good Dr. Geyer forged a blood sample or three so no one would get suspicious."

 

"I really shouldn't be hearing this, but I guess I might as well add to it: the books Parrish and I found are at Derek's loft for you when you're ready," the Sheriff said, ushering Stiles and Derek inside.

 

"You didn't tell me earlier?" Stiles asked Derek, looking over at him.

 

Derek shrugged. "You were too drugged up to remember, and you slept on the way here."

 

Stiles conceded with a nod. "I could sleep now, actually."

 

"All right. You rest up, I've got the rest of the weekend off. If you're feeling up to it, we could go see the new _Star Wars_ movie," the Sheriff offered.

 

"Yeah, I'd like that," Stiles said, smiling at him. Then he yawned widely, hugged his father once more before he headed upstairs with Derek's help.

 

When they were alone and Stiles' bedroom door was shut, Derek looked at Stiles in concern. "You have to tell him sometime, Stiles."

 

"I will. I want to check with Deaton first, it might be another one of those illusion things from the whole darkness around the heart thingie," he said, trying to downplay just how terrified he'd been.

 

"Stiles, you saw a portal to Hell and screamed like actual _literal_ hellhounds were after you."

 

Stiles glared. "I know that, Derek! You _think_ I don't know that?! It was fucking terrifying, and I _know that!_ But I'm not going to be able to do anything about it now, not when I'm weak and I can't smell a goddamn thing!"

 

Derek sighed, tension leaking from his shoulders as he sagged back against the door. "Sorry, I... I'm just worried."

 

Stiles felt like shit for snapping at Derek and sat on his bed, head in his hands. "I know, so am I. And I'm sorry too."

 

"Let's just sleep for now. We'll go see Deaton in the morning," Derek murmured, sitting beside Stiles and drawing him into his arms when he turned towards him for comfort.

 

Yawning widely, Stiles agreed and let Derek position them both on the bed to sleep.

 

...

 

Stiles woke up blearily, hand smacking out to stop his phone's alarm. He belatedly realised that it wasn't an alarm, but an incoming call, and he opened his eyes to see that it was Scott.

 

"Scotty? Why're you calling at six in the morning, man?" Stiles grumbled.

 

"Stiles, the clinic's been robbed. I don't know if they took anything, but the money's still there and so's all of the drugs. But Deaton's... All of Deaton's _stuff_ is gone. And that's not the worst part."

 

"There's _more?_ " Stiles asked, throat dry.

 

"It's Deaton. I've texted and called him like six times this morning and he's not answering. I've got no idea if he's been taken or if he's left on his own, and I have no idea what to do. Deaton's gone, Stiles."

 

A cold shiver ran down Stiles' back as he sat up abruptly, thinking of Stalker; _maybe he wasn't truly dead, despite having his heart literally torn out of his chest? Maybe he had had help, and his accomplices had come back for revenge? Maybe_ -

 

"Stiles? What's wrong?" Derek asked, frowning when he picked up the sour and bitter scent of Stiles' fear and confusion. When Stiles didn't answer, he gently pried the phone from his grip and put it to his ear. "What's happened?"

 

"The clinic's been robbed and they took most of Deaton's things. I can't get hold of Deaton, either," Scott repeated, voice hushed as a police officer headed towards him. "Gotta go."

 

Derek ended the call and put the phone back on Stiles' bedside table. "Stiles? Stiles, look at me. Deaton will be okay."

 

Stiles breathed in deeply, slowly calming his nerves and racing heart, and finally nodded in agreement. "We have to go to the clinic, see what you can find before it's overwhelmed with the scents of BHPD's finest," he said, pushing the blanket off so he could get changed.

 

"Don't worry, Deputy Haigh takes his personal hygiene very seriously," Derek muttered, smiling when Stiles laughed softly in response.

 

There was a knock at the door, the Sheriff opening it at Stiles' muffled response. He was dressed in his uniform, and looked ready to apologise for cancelling their plans for the _Star Wars_ movie already. His expression faded as he looked from Stiles, who was buttoning his jeans with a shirt hanging off one arm, to Derek who was trying to find his BHPD uniform in his bag.

 

"I'm guessing you heard about the robbery at Deaton's?" the Sheriff asked, sighing. He shouldn't have been surprised.

 

"Scott rang. You know that Deaton's missing?" Stiles replied, shirt finally on.

 

"Well, I do now. Anyone else on the force know he's missing?"

 

"Not yet. They'll be questioning Scott for a good hour or so. You don't mind that we'll be there?" Derek asked, very acutely aware that the Sheriff was his boss and his boyfriend's father.

 

The Sheriff was almost tempted to laugh, but it was too damn early and he hadn't had his coffee yet. "Do you honestly think I could stop either of you?" he replied pointedly.

 

Derek looked over to Stiles, who was looking bright-eyed, despite the early hour of the morning. He looked better than he had since Stalker had arrived on the scene, and Derek knew that the Sheriff was right: he wouldn't get in the way of Stiles' happiness either. Even if it was a little twisted, he kind of loved his boyfriend for that.

 

"I'm sure I'll see you at the crime scene," the Sheriff said with another sigh. "Oh, and remind Haigh _not_ to spray Axe everywhere like he did last time?"

 

"I'll do it," Stiles volunteered with a evil cackle.

 

_Yep, definitely twisted_.

 

...

 

Stiles had to let his Adderall kick in so he let Derek drive Roscoe to the clinic. Derek forced himself to drive right on the edge of the speed limit. He still didn't have a portable siren (mostly because everyone knew Stiles would use it blatantly, and Derek would probably let him), so he didn't speed.

 

He knew just how important it would be to get there before the rest of the force - Haigh's unfortunate Axe spraying incident had partially destroyed some vital evidence in the last investigation they'd been part of. The Sheriff had been livid for days, and not even an apologetic bacon cheeseburger on Haigh's part had been enough to soothe his nerves. (In fact, it seemed to make the Sheriff worse because he'd ranted about Stiles and guilt and PowerPoint presentations with very disturbing pictures of cholesterol clogging arteries. Derek didn't want to know any more than that.)

 

"Ready?"

 

"Always. If you see Haigh, tackle him and I'll steal his Axe," Stiles said, already halfway out of the Jeep.

 

Derek rolled his eyes. "Sure thing, Stiles."

 

He followed Stiles inside, nodding at the two police officers interviewing Scott. They nodded, recognising his uniform if not his face or name just yet, and let them both go through to the back of the clinic.

 

"That's seriously poor form. No tape to stop people wandering in, letting anyone in the back area just 'cause they're wearing a uniform? Geez, it's like these guys don't watch heist movies in their spare time. Y'know what, I'm gonna go back there and tell them - "

 

Stiles stopped talking and walking abruptly, and it was only Derek's supernatural speed that had him stopping before in barrelled into Stiles. Deaton's office, which was usually pristine, was a complete and utter mess. Every drawer had been turned inside out, his books were missing from the shelves, and even his secret compartment in his bookcase was open and bare.

 

"Fuck me."

 

"Let's deal with this first."

 

"Oh, I see how it is; sourwolf's got jokes _before_ 7am," Stiles deadpanned. "You go in first, I'll wait until you're done."

 

Stiles held the door open for Derek. He stepped through the room cautiously, not wanting to ruin or destroy any evidence, and he sniffed carefully for scents of fear or blood, anything to indicate there was a struggle or a fight. If he was lucky, he might even catch a scent on the direction Deaton had gone. After a few minutes, Derek stopped in the centre of the room, turning to look back at Stiles.

 

"There's nothing recent. It's all stale, like he hasn't been in his office for weeks."

 

"But we saw him in here a week ago."

 

"I know," Derek murmured, troubled. "Let's try the examination room."

 

Stiles gave the office a final look and frown, then they went to the examination room.

 

Again, the room was completely ruined, and the various jars and books they knew Deaton stored in his cupboards were gone as well. Derek squeezed Stiles' hand gently when his heart rake spiked. Stiles breathed again and squeezed back.

 

"All right, go do your thing," he murmured, letting go of Derek's hand so he could walk through the examination room.

 

Derek did so, again with the same careful steps and caution. He reached the table when he straightened suddenly, his back stiff and head moving back and forth. If it wasn't such a serious situation, Stiles might've laughed.

 

"What is it?"

 

"Sulphur. Brimstone. Fire," Derek listed off each scent, voice soft and eerie in the silent room. "And fear."

 

His words made Stiles shudder, remembering far too well the portal in his hospital room, the heat from the flames, and the black writhing _things_ that had no definite shape or form.

 

Derek turned at Stiles' scent of fear rolling through the room, and made his way back to him a moment later. He put his hands on Stiles' shoulders, stroking him firmly with his thumbs until Stiles looked at him properly.

 

"It'll be all right. We'll find some way of getting to him, I promise."

 

"Der, you... the portal, the brimstone, sulphur, fire - it sounds like he's been taken to Hell, you realise that, right?" Stiles asked, voice barely a whisper in a mix of confusion, fear, and worry.

 

"Yeah, I do," Derek replied with a sigh.

 

"Lydia doesn't think Hell's real. Should you tell her, or should I?"

 

Derek hummed and thought about it for a moment. "Scott."

 

"Better idea."

 

"No way!" Scott called from the foyer, wincing when he frightened the two police officers with his outburst. "Uh, sorry. I just remembered the ending to the new _Star Wars_ movie."

 

Both police officers frowned at Scott, but were distracted when Deputy Parrish came into the clinic, the Sheriff behind him with a tray of much-needed coffee.

 

"You wouldn't dare spoil _Star Wars_ ," Stiles gasped, covering his ears.

 

"You don't know that," Scott muttered.

 

"Come on, argue about it later. We've got to find a way to open a portal to Hell so we can find Deaton," Derek muttered.

 

"Maybe Deputy Haigh will know," Stiles snickered.

 

"He doesn't, but I do," Parrish said, eyes glowing a fiery orange.

 

...

 

End of the first chapter.

 

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

To say that Stiles freaked out would be an understatement. He almost ruined the crime scene by _flailing_ _too hard_ at Parrish's reveal. He looked at Derek, jaw hanging open and eyes wide, confused, and accusatory as if to say 'are you seeing this? Have you seen this? Did you know about this?' all in the space of a second.

 

"Everything all right back here?" the Sheriff asked, frowning at his son's gaping expression, then looked to Parrish and Derek.

 

"Fine, sir. We might have a lead. Uh, outside," Derek said, trying for subtlety and failing.

 

"Right, of course. You go follow that lead... Are you sure everything else is all right? Your tail's acting a little weird there, kid," the Sheriff added in an undertone to Stiles.

 

Stiles grabbed his tail, clamped his mouth shut, and nodded firmly. With his free hand, he grabbed Derek's hand and marched them outside so he could continue to freak out.

 

"Uh. I think I'd better help them with that lead, sir. You'll be all right here?" Parrish asked, looking from the Sheriff to where Deputy Haigh was entering the clinic, the scent of Axe body spray already wafting inside.

 

"I'll be fine, son," the Sheriff replied, somewhat amused. Then he recognised the scent in the air and frowned. "Maybe bring a gas mask on your way back. I don't think Scott likes it either," he added with a brief smile, seeing Scott's eyes flare red for a split second as the werewolf tried to overcome the overwhelming scent.

 

"I'll bring several gas masks back, sir," Parrish said amiably, and then followed Derek and Stiles outside.

 

"Haigh, get outside! Scott, you've got a hose out back for the dog wash, don't you?" the Sheriff asked, grinning widely.

 

Haigh, who hadn't realised the Sheriff would be at the investigation, paled and hurried out the door before the Sheriff followed through on his threat.

 

"Seriously, if he comes back in here smelling like that, you have my permission to throw him out. Literally," the Sheriff muttered to Scott.

 

Scott seemed a bit wary at the Sheriff's offer, but then surveyed the clinic's windows as if considering it seriously, and grinned.

 

...

 

To his credit, Stiles didn't ask any questions as he drove Roscoe through town, stopping at the edge of the Preserve as per Parrish's instructions from the back seat. Derek holding his hand and stopping his leg from jittering in impatience might have had something to do with that. As soon as he parked Roscoe, Stiles slid out of the front seat with his usual grace, and waited impatiently for the other two men to join him.

 

"All right, I've been patient. It's been like five hours, what the hell are you?!" Stiles demanded.

 

"We were driving for ten minutes, Stiles," Derek corrected.

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow - _whose side are you on?!_ \- and Derek turned his attention back to Parrish.

 

"Hellhound."

 

"Wait, really? Seriously? Hellhounds - and therefore, Hell itself - actually exists?" Stiles asked, jaw dropping again.

 

"Do we really have time for this? Deaton's been gone and time... well, it's not exactly linear to here," Parrish admitted.

 

"But..." Stiles trailed off, knowing it was futile, then he glared at Parrish. "What did you tell Lydia?"

 

Parrish actually blushed and then coughed. "She... she, uh, didn't take it well. She demanded proof, and when I gave it, well... she hasn't stopped working on equations since. I honestly didn't think that would be the response," he admitted.

 

Stiles snorted. "This is _Lydia_ we're talking about; she's a genius, remember? Anything that doesn't fit into her logic eventually **will** just out of sheer willpower and determination. Or fear. Maybe all three," Stiles amended.

 

"What response were you expecting?" Derek asked curiously. "She handled Kanimas and werewolves and nogitsunes; a hellhound isn't exactly going to make her run away screaming."

 

"Yeah, if anything, she'd probably run _at it_ screaming. You totally thought she was going to ditch you, huh?" Stiles asked.

 

"It's kind of been a deal-breaker in every other relationship I've had," Parrish said. "Look, do you want my help or not? I want to get there and back before the end of the week if I can help it."

 

"You're not joking about the time thing, huh?" Stiles muttered. "Just let me tell my Dad we're following a lead for a few days and we'll be out of range, okay? I don't want him thinking I've been kidnapped yet again."

 

"Uh, don't mention the hellhound thing, would you?" Parrish asked hesitantly as Stiles tugged his phone out of his pocket.

 

"Duh; time travel's just one on a long list of things that he won't be able to handle."

 

Stiles stepped away to make his phone call, trying not to grin when he saw Derek sizing Parrish up.

 

"So what exactly does a hellhound do?" Derek asked, arms folded in front of his chest.

 

"Guard the supernatural from the rest of the world; usually from discovering the dead bodies of any supernatural beings. Well, we try to, at least. It's difficult with kanimas, werewolves, nogitsune, and incubus-vampires running around town."

 

Derek tensed slightly, ready to defend his mate, then he saw that Parrish was grinning outright and he relaxed. "How will you get us there? Will we be safe? I don't... Stiles can't be harmed, not again."

 

"Don't worry, both of you just stick with me, okay?" Parrish replied, looking from Derek to where Stiles was returning.

 

"What did the Sheriff say?" Derek asked.

 

"Something about losing his favourite deputies for the rest of the week, and needing to hose Haigh off. I think he actually believed me when I said he really didn't want to know where we're going," Stiles added with a brief grin. "So, what's Hell like?" he asked Parrish, grinning broadly now.

 

"Hot, noisy. I wouldn't recommend it," he replied. "We'd better go to the Nemeton; it's easier to open a portal to the gates from there."

 

"Wait, what about that portal in the hospital? Was that you?" Stiles asked, frowning.

 

Parrish's eyes widened slightly. "There was a portal in the hospital?"

 

"Uh, yeah, day before I was discharged. Actually, it's the reason I was in there another day; I screamed and terrified three nurses, including Melissa, which, let me tell you, is one difficult feat to achieve. So... I'm guessing not you then?"

 

Parrish shook his head. "I didn't even sense it. I'll look into it when we come back; Deaton's the priority now."

 

Stiles headed towards the forest, but before Parrish could follow, Derek grabbed his arm.

 

"You promise me Stiles will get back safe. I don't care about me, or even you, but if he doesn't come back here where he belongs, I _will_ kill you, understood?"

 

"As long as both of you stay by me, we'll all get out of there in one piece," Parrish snapped.

 

"Come on, slowpokes! I want to get this over and done with, my tail's freaking out."

 

"No, all of you is freaking out, Stiles," Derek replied with a sigh, following after him.

 

Their trek through the forest was silent for approximately six and a half minutes before Stiles started talking again.

 

"Hey, why d'you think anyone'd want to kidnap Deaton for anyway? It's not like he's the only Druid around. Though, I suppose he is the only fully-certified veterinarian. Are there pets in Hell?" Stiles asked, then he grimaced. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know where Fluffy ended up."

 

"Fluffy?" Derek echoed.

 

"Pet iguana. So, Deaton being dragged to Hell. I don't think his time was up, he obviously didn't make a deal with a crossroads demon, or else he'd have a full head of hair - " Stiles stopped talking for a moment to wrestle with that mental image, grinning, " - so I just don't get why anyone's interested in him in particular?"

 

"He might have something that belonged to a creature from Hell; there's more than demons down there, and not all Hellhounds are as nice as me," Parrish added with a smile that was a little on the toothy side.

 

"I don't know, do _creatures from Hell_ enjoy reading?" Stiles asked, mocking Parrish's words and pulling a face. "'Cause that's the only thing Deaton has that's of any interest or worth."

 

Derek stopped suddenly enough that the other two stopped as well. He looked at Stiles, eyes widening slightly. "You're right."

 

"I am? Of course I am!" Stiles added quickly, then frowned. "Why am I, again?"

 

"We're going into this with the wrong thinking. We're all assuming it's supernatural, but what if it's not? We need to think like cops: there is no reason for Deaton in particular to be kidnapped. If he did have something they wanted or belonged to them, he would have been killed and the item would have been taken."

 

"So... Why Deaton? Or why Deaton and not anyone else?" Stiles mused. "Deaton has the clinic, he has his books, and he knows how to get out of zip ties..." he trailed off, obviously thinking seriously. "He also has us," Stiles said after a long minute of silence.

 

Both Parrish and Derek frowned. Derek thought he had some idea of what Stiles meant, but Parrish simply looked confused.

 

"What do you mean?" Parrish asked.

 

"He has people willing to go after him to get him back. Someone knows you're a Hellhound and can get us to him. So it's either a trap by someone we know, or someone who's been watching us closely. Hopefully not too close," Stiles said with a shudder.

 

"Who's the trap for, though? If they're really watching us, then why not just grab whoever they want instead? Why the elaborate plan?"

 

Neither Stiles nor Derek had an answer to Jordan's questions.

 

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Stiles muttered, continuing along the path towards the Nemeton.

 

Warier now more than ever, Derek followed after him. His wolf howled, a long and haunting sound that definitely didn't help Derek's nerves; it sounded as though Stiles was going somewhere he could never return from.

 

...

 

End of the second chapter.

 

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

The portal to Hell made Stiles scream again, and Parrish winced.

 

"Are you going to do that every time I open one of these?"

 

"Probably. It's scary, okay? It just appeared out of nowhere, comprised out of nothing, and bam, flames and death and shit. Fuck," Stiles breathed, tail wrapped around his waist as he doubled over and inhaled noisily.

 

Derek put a hand on his back to calm him, and Stiles eventually straightened once more, though his tail didn't unwind from his waist.

 

"Ready now?" Parrish asked, looking between them.

 

Stiles grabbed Derek's hand, not feeling the least bit of shame about it, and nodded.

 

Parrish led them through the portal, not waiting to look behind to ensure they followed. Stiles reached out for Derek's hand at the same time as Derek sought his, and Stiles grinned briefly, squeezing his hand. Hesitant, and far more cautious than their guide, Stiles and Derek entered the portal hand-in-hand.

 

As they weren't attacked immediately upon entering Hell, Stiles slowly started to relax. He didn't let go of Derek's hand, and considering his tail was practically wrapped around both of their hands, Stiles doubted he could let go anyway.

 

"Keep up. It's never a good idea to dawdle in this place," Parrish said, eyeing something off the side of the path that neither Stiles nor Derek could see clearly.

 

"It's already getting uncomfortably hot, I'd like to get out sooner rather than later," Derek agreed with a nod.

 

Stiles frowned. "You're feeling hot?"

 

"You're not? Stiles, it's like 80 degrees in here," Derek said, beads of perspiration starting to form on his forehead. (176 degrees Fahrenheit)

 

"Seriously? This is lukewarm. I've had baths hotter than this," Stiles said, frowning. "Parrish, what about you?"

 

"I'm a Hellhound, Stiles. Hell doesn't affect me like it does to others," Parrish replied, though he did seem a little surprised at Stiles' comfort.

 

"So basically, it's lukewarm to you too?" Stiles asked pointedly.

 

Parrish scowled and went to reply, but one of the shadowy things from the side of the path flew towards Derek. Parrish growled, grabbed the black misty shadow and set it alight in the space of a second. Despite it being corporeal, the shadow ended up as a small pile of dust on the path beneath them.

 

"We'd better hurry. It'll be pissed when it reforms," Parrish said. "Deaton's scent is this way," he said, walking off a branch in the path.

 

Stiles and Derek both stared from the pile of ash to Parrish's retreating form. Derek looked to Stiles, eyebrows raised, and they both followed after Parrish. Stiles barely resisted the temptation to start humming 'we're off to see the wizard'.

 

...

 

" _Please_ tell me we're nearby?" Stiles asked after what felt like _hours_ of walking.

 

"Not yet. If you ask again, I'm throwing you into a lava pit," Parrish threatened.

 

"Would it be the same as the temperature here? 'Cause I could do with a nice warm bath," Stiles said, grinning.

 

Derek didn't agree, sweat rolling off him slowly. The place itself was torture; he had no idea what actually consisted of torture for anyone sent here. And if they were sent here, wherever _here_ existed, then didn't that technically mean heaven existed as well? Or was it only for supernatural beings? And weren't people's _souls_ meant to be here? Why couldn't he see them? And how on earth did a soul get tortured anyway; weren't souls incorporeal?

 

Stiles stopped and frowned at Derek, his tail unwinding from his waist to wrap around Derek's wrist. To feel for a pulse or something else entirely, Derek didn't know, but the moment Stiles' tail touched him, the heat stopped being so unbearable and he stopped sweating buckets.

 

"Huh," Stiles said eloquently, tugging his tail away from Derek to see what would happen.

 

The heat hit him like a wave instantly, and Derek grabbed out for Stiles' tail again. "You're not leaving my side," he said, voice barely a growl.

 

"Are you talking to me or my tail?" Stiles asked, grinning.

 

"Both."

 

"Hmm, okay. I'll take it," Stiles said with a grin. He kissed Derek's cheek, and then continued after Parrish, Derek close by with Stiles' tail wound around his wrist.

 

...

 

Parrish stopped and frowned, sniffing at the humid air around them. As a hellhound, he had a sharper nose than a werewolf, though admittedly, it was only in certain places. Hell was _usually_ one of those places. Earth itself wasn't hot enough to make his senses sharpen, his nose sensitive to every scent and being around him. Hell, however, was the perfect temperature to make a beast out of him, almost in the literal sense of the word. Parrish could feel his humanity slipping away every time he returned and the longer he stayed in Hell. He didn't stay very long.

 

Now, however, his senses were in overload. He had caught Deaton's scent earlier on the trail, but it now split into different directions, and each scent was as sharp and clear as the last. It was impossible, unless Deaton had figured some way of being in multiple places at once, and not even demons could do that. The paths should have had some varying degree of scent to them, with even a bare minute between them affecting the scent itself.

 

"Why've we stopped?" Stiles asked, looking from the path below their feet to Parrish. "Did you lose him? Are we lost?"

 

Parrish shook his head. "We're not lost, and I haven't lost Deaton's scent, but this just doesn't make any sense."

 

Derek sniffed as well, and beside him, despite not being able to smell anything, Stiles did the same.

 

"Smells like he's been over these paths multiple times in the last few seconds," Derek said, frowning.

 

"Seconds? But then we'd be able to see him, wouldn't we?" Stiles asked, looking around in case Deaton would pop up from nowhere.

 

Parrish looked around as well, not entirely pleased about how many shadows had gathered around them.

 

Stiles' tail straightened up, and Parrish bit back a comment about bloodhounds; maybe he'd use it later.

 

"He's this way. The other paths don't have the same pheromone scent. My _tail_ can recognise pheromones? What the hell is it about this place?" he muttered, shaking his head. "And more worryingly, how is my tail better at sniffing out scents than both of your supernatural noses?" Stiles added, snickering.

 

Derek grabbed the base of Stiles' tail to stop the heat from affecting him again. His tail curled around his forearm briefly, then pointed back down the proper path.

 

Around them, the shadows began to swarm, and Parrish cursed under his breath. He grabbed both Stiles and Derek and guided them forcefully by their elbows, practically running down the path.

 

"Isn't that the thing you smoked and turned into ash earlier?" Stiles asked, frowning at the odd shadowy shapes behind them.

 

"Parts of it. When it reforms completely, then we'll be in trouble. Let's just hope we find Deaton before then," Parrish replied.

 

...

 

With Stiles' tail leading the way, they found Deaton further along the path, somewhere between a sand dune and a lava pit. Stiles tried not to gape at the two very different structures existing in the same place, but he supposed it was Hell and anything applied, really.

 

Deaton looked awful, his clothes torn, his skin bleeding in places, and his eyes a little angry. "Get out. Go back to wherever you came from. Quickly!" Deaton snapped at them, looking surprisingly pissed off for someone who was being rescued.

 

"What?" Derek asked, tone blunt and face matching.

 

"I never wanted you to come down here! That's why I made my office smell like I hadn't been there in weeks; I thought if you believed I'd left Beacon Hills of my own accord, then you'd stay away from this place," Deaton said.

 

"And why do we have to stay away?" Derek asked, arms crossed over his chest as he glared.

 

"Not you. You should've died in this heat already; I mean Stiles," he replied.

 

Stiles didn't know what was worse: the sand dune and lava pit, or the fact that Deaton was being so forthcoming with his answers. Hearing Deaton talk so bluntly about Derek _dying_ made him move that little bit closer to Derek, his tail tugging him close as well.

 

A loud rumbling sound echoed around them. The sand dune began to erode, even as the lava started to bubble and ooze, and Deaton stumbled back a few steps.

 

"Oh no. No, no. _Go!_ You have to go now! Run before..." Deaton cut off abruptly, hands clawing at his throat as if he was being choked.

 

Parrish leapt forward and tore the shadowy limbs away from Deaton, setting the shadow alight quickly. There was a hiss of pain and the shadow pulled away abruptly.

 

"Well, that wasn't very nice, Parrish."

 

Stiles frowned, recognising the voice, but unable to place it immediately. Then the shadow behind Deaton formed into a more solid form, and far easier to recognise than the voice alone.

 

"Welcome to Hell, boys," Carl said, giving them a purple-eyed wink.

 

...

 

End of the third chapter.

 

Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

"Carl? Seriously?! Are you a hellhound too?" Stiles asked.

 

"A hellhound? Ugh, hell no. Mangy beasts. No offence, Parrish," Carl added as an afterthought.

 

"Offence taken, asshole."

 

Carl just smiled as though Parrish had complimented him.

 

"Why'd you take Deaton?" Stiles asked.

 

"Hmm? Oh, him? He was getting a bit too close to figuring things out, and besides, I knew you'd all come after him. I'm surprised Scott isn't here with you," Carl said, looking somewhere between disappointed and amused. "I wanted to see how a True Alpha would handle Hell."

 

Deaton managed to breathe again, his throat tender and bruised, and he glared at Carl. "None of that's true; this whole thing was a trap for Stiles."

 

" _Me?!_ " Stiles asked in confusion, looking between them all.

 

Carl glowered at Deaton. "You are _seriously_ starting to get on my nerves."

 

Before anyone could do anything, one of the shadows shot forth from the sidelines and wrapped around Deaton's throat.

 

"Hey, get off him!" Stiles snapped, jumping forward to try to get the shadow off Deaton.

 

His fingers barely brushed the shadow before it slithered off and wrapped around his arm instead. Stiles blinked and looked down at the wispy figure. It didn't seem to be hurting him, but was brushing up against his skin gently, as if it was a cat rubbing against him and seeking  attention.

 

"Stiles!" Derek called, immediately exhausted and feeling the heat.

 

He tried to rush forward, only to be stopped by a wall of the shadows. Parrish grabbed Derek's shirt to stop him before he hit them head on, knowing that he wouldn't survive.

 

"Wait," Carl said, eyes flashing purple as he watched Stiles and the shadow.

 

"St-Stiles," Deaton gasped, voice broken and rasping against his bruised throat.

 

"I. Said. _Wait_ ," Carl snapped.

 

Three shadows left the wall to wrap around Deaton's mouth completely. Stiles stared at the shadow, transfixed and oblivious to everything that had happened since it had wrapped around his forearm.

 

Unhindered by the shadows, Carl stepped down from the sandy dune and towards the hardened floor that led towards the lava pit. He stopped in front of Stiles, putting a hand on the shadow to bring it across to his arm instead. Stiles' eyes followed the shadow and he finally looked up at Carl.

 

"What's going on?" Stiles asked.

 

"They recognise you as a creature of Hell, Stiles," Carl informed him, Deaton's voice muffled beside him. "They wouldn't hurt you anymore than they'd hurt me."

 

Stiles frowned slightly. "But I'm not a creature of Hell. Well, I was born human, at least."

 

"That can be forgiven," Carl said with a sharp grin. "It only takes a few years for the last of your humanity to be worn away. Sometimes less, depending on the person."

 

Stiles looked down to the shadow again. "What are they?"

 

"Souls. Hell hasn't had an incubus here for a while, but they know exactly who and what you are, what you can become."

 

"Huh?"

 

"The incubus-vampire's third form: soul stealer. It's so much more than the title suggests, of course. Words alone can't explain exactly what their third form becomes. You will be able to drain people's souls, but more than that, you will be able to control them. Hell is _filled_ to the brim with sinners' souls, Stiles. You will be able to control every single one and rule this place. With me by your side, we can bring the world to its knees," Carl murmured, stepping in closer, tilting Stiles' chin up.

 

Stiles' eyes widened. Behind the wall of wispy shadows, Derek growled menacingly, despite his need for Parrish to hold him upright.

 

"This is the place you belong. You're better down here in every way, Stiles. Even better than hellhounds and werewolves. Isn't that what you've always wanted? To be better than everyone?" Carl asked, grin sharp.

 

"You could bring so many souls into Hell, Stiles. People wouldn't even hesitate to follow you, and they'd be loyal without question. They would love you, kill for you, _die_ for you if you asked it. You'd be powerful beyond anything you've ever imagined, and with my guidance, you could have all the souls you desired," Carl said, looking as hungry as he sounded.

 

Stiles knew that it was bad, but there was something about Carl that was making it difficult for him to resist. As with Stalker's pheromone scents, his common sense was overridden completely, and Stiles could almost _see_ the future that Carl promised. _The world would be filled with blood and flames and he would control it all. No one would ever be able to stop him; they wouldn't want to_.

 

Derek clutched Parrish for strength, stood as straight as he possibly could with the intense heat assaulting him on all sides, then tilted his head back and _howled_.

 

Stiles immediately snapped out of his daze, shaking his head and pushing Carl away. His tail had moved between them, and now that Stiles was aware of his surroundings again, it shoved Carl back fiercely. Carl stumbled back, tripping over Deaton's body, and let out a cry as he tumbled straight into the lava pit.

 

"Ooh, geez. You okay Deaton?" Stiles asked, helping the Druid stand.

 

A brush against the shadows had them unwinding from his mouth, and Deaton took several gasps of air, nodding briefly.

 

"I'd be much better if I wasn't in this place. The lava pit won't hold him for long," Deaton said, glancing to where the lava was bubbling fiercely.

 

Carl was fighting against the pull of the liquid with every excruciating centimetre he was dragged down. He looked to Stiles, calling for him, trying to entice him again. A few of the shadows from the wall hovered between them for a moment.

 

"Keep him there," Stiles said to the three shadows that were wrapped around his forearm.

 

They didn't need further instruction than that, all three diving for Carl. Behind Stiles, the wall of shadows broke apart and they all dive-bombed Carl in the lava pit. Stiles looked to Derek and Parrish, wincing when he saw how pale and sickly Derek looked. He helped Deaton over to them, swapping his hold on the Druid for Parrish's hold on Derek. His tail wrapped around Derek quickly, and Derek breathed in relief when the heat stopped suffocating him.

 

"Are you all right?" Stiles asked.

 

A high-pitched piercing scream came from the lava pit behind them. Derek didn't even look over at Carl, wordlessly pulling Stiles into a firm hug instead.

 

"Yeah, I know. Parrish, can we get the hell out of Hell now?"

 

"I should leave you down here just for that pun," Parrish muttered, but opened a portal a moment later.

 

Five seconds later, they were back in Beacon Hills and the portal was closed behind them. Stiles saw that they were at the Nemeton again, deeper than the heart of the forest. It was night around them, the air cold and a stark contrast to their visit in Hell.

 

"Phones will be dead; electronics run on the same time here, not Hell's," Parrish explained. "There's no decent service down there anyway."

 

"Funny, Parrish," Stiles muttered, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

 

He grabbed Derek's hand and held it tightly as the werewolf howled beside him. In the distance, they all heard Scott howl in return.

 

"We should stay here until Scott and the others arrive," Parrish said. "It's probably not a good idea to move Deaton yet."

 

"Good, that means we've got time for some Q and A," Stiles said, turning to look at the Druid.

 

"Can it wait, Stiles?"

 

"Not really, no. Question one: what the fuck was Carl?"

 

Deaton sighed and sat against the Nemeton, looking exhausted. "Carl is a demon. You know the myth about the Devil offering people their deepest desires?" he prompted, getting nods in return. "All demons in Hell have the ability to see people's desires and twist it around until they can think about nothing else. They give people a year or two with their wishes fulfilled, then lure them into Hell. The number of shadows a demon has are an indication of a demon's rank in Hell's hierarchy: the demon with the most shadows is considered Hell's leader."

 

"There's a hierarchy?" Stiles asked, frowning.

 

"Inasmuch as Hell can have one, yes. Carl wanted to use you to get souls so he could lead Hell and all the souls and beings in it," Deaton added.

 

"You couldn't have told this to us _before_ Carl took you?"

 

"I had no idea about it then; Carl was very forthcoming with information when he was sure you'd sacrifice me to stay in Hell with him."

 

"Are you kidding? He's so not my type," Stiles muttered, curling up against Derek's side.

 

"I'm so glad my life was in safe hands," Deaton deadpanned.

 

Scott barrelled between the trees, almost crashing into Stiles. "You're okay!"

 

"Hey, buddy. Good to see you too," Stiles said, patting his back. "Uh, your'e squeezing a little tight there, Scotty."

 

Scott just breathed against Stiles' neck, crushing him a little tighter still.

 

"Scott. Let go of him," Derek snapped.

 

Scott did as Derek said, only to hug Derek next.

 

"The hell, Scotty? Since when do you hug _Derek?_ How long were we in Hell?" Stiles asked, looking between them all.

 

Deaton shrugged. "I wasn't conscious long enough to get a proper handle on how time passed."

 

Parrish coughed gently. "Three weeks."

 

"Three weeks? As in _almost a month_? I thought it would only take a week!" Stiles asked, his eyes wide.

 

"It wasn't a guarantee. We spent a lot of time trying to find Deaton's trail," Parrish said.

 

"Scott. Let go of Derek and concentrate. Do you have your phone on you? We've got to get out of the preserve and call my dad. Does he know what's going on?"

 

"We told him we were following a lead on Deaton's kidnapping," Derek added, wincing as he thought of the implications. The Sheriff probably thought they'd been kidnapped as well.

 

Scott hugged Stiles once more before he finally stepped back. "Lydia's with him and Mum. They're... They were a bit resistant to the idea of Hell, but Lydia convinced them."

 

"She did?" Parrish asked, sounding surprised.

 

"Of course she did. And, dude, you're in so much trouble for leaving without a word," Scott said, shaking his head at the Deputy.

 

"I'm sure everyone's relationships are important, but I'd like to get to a hospital sooner rather than later," Deaton pointed out, sounding and looking pained.

 

"Shit. Sorry, Dr. Deaton. I'll carry you back. C'mon," Scott said to the others, picking up the Druid carefully and running through the gap in the trees.

 

"I'll carry you, Stiles," Derek offered before he could ask.

 

Stiles grinned broadly and practically jumped into Derek's waiting arms. He snuggled up against his chest, his tail winding around Derek's waist.

 

"Thanks for getting me out of Hell, Derek," he murmured as they ran through the preserve, Scott and Parrish ahead of them.

 

"I promised I would," he replied, looking down at Stiles briefly.

 

"Yeah, you did."

 

In the dark night, no one noticed the shadow that was curled around Stiles' ankle.

 

...

 

End of the fourth chapter.

 

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

They bypassed the hospital and went straight to the Stilinski residence. Melissa immediately started to help Deaton once Scott set him down; Lydia pulled Parrish aside to talk; and the Sheriff grabbed Stiles the moment he was set on his feet, hugging him almost as firmly as Scott had. Derek stood back, Malia and Liam standing near him. He could smell the nerves exuding from Liam and looked to the boy.

 

"You helped look for us?" Derek asked.

 

Liam's eyes widened and he nodded.

 

"Thanks."

 

Liam's sharp scent of nerves lessened and he grinned. "No problem."

 

Derek couldn't help but grin in return, and he looked back to the Sheriff and Stiles who were still hugging firmly.

 

"Don't you ever do that to me again; you hear me? I was terrified, Stiles," John admitted.

 

"I know, Pops. Sorry. I didn't think it'd take so long," Stiles said, wincing at his lame excuse.

 

"You were in Hell, Stiles? Real actual, _literal_ Hell?" John asked, his grip slowly loosening up.

 

"Yeah."

 

John took a moment before replying. "What was it like?"

 

"Warm. Weird. The landscape was seriously screwed up."

 

"Okay..."

 

"There was a sand dune right next to a lava pit," Stiles added in explanation, squeezing his father once more before letting go.

 

"Wait, what?" John asked, looking more confused about that than the concept of Hell.

 

"Yeah, I know."

 

"Someone has to give me a proper explanation as to what happened," the Sheriff said, sounding a bit exasperated.

 

"Carl kidnapped Deaton to lure Stiles to Hell," Derek said when the Sheriff looked over to him.

 

"I told you it was for Stiles," Lydia said to Scott, glowering.

 

Stiles tried not to laugh when he noticed money exchange hands between Liam and Malia.

 

"I agreed with you!" Scott said, his hands up and eyes wide.

 

"Only after I explained the reasoning for the fifth time," Lydia pointed out.

 

"There were no PowerPoint presentations; the bullet list works better for my style of learning," Scott muttered.

 

The Sheriff looked even more put-upon, decided to ignore _that_ argument, and looked between Stiles, Derek, and Parrish instead. "Why Stiles?"

 

"Carl wanted me to rule Hell. Well, he actually wanted souls and I have... uh, the possibility of controlling souls?"

 

"I..." John trailed off. "I don't know what to say to that."

 

"Since you're back, can we go home now?" Malia asked in the lull, looking between Scott and Stiles.

 

"Thanks for looking with us, guys," Scott said, clasping Liam on the back.

 

Malia and Liam were gone before anyone else could say anything.

 

"Deaton will be fine. I've done as much as I can, and apparently, he's got more at his clinic that he can use. Unless his jars were found and are with Evidence?" Melissa asked, looking to John.

 

He shook his head. "The only jars found were the ones relating to the veterinary clinic. Where were the others?" the Sheriff asked Deaton.

 

"Floorboards," Deaton rasped.

 

"No one thought to look under the floors?"

 

"Blurring spell; stops people noticing it," Deaton explained.

 

Scott looked very worried that his employer was being so forthright with his answers.

 

"Not that it isn't great to see everyone again, but I'm heading upstairs for a shower and bed. I'm beat," Stiles said, yawning widely.

 

"All right. I've got an early shift in the morning. Take care of him, will you, son?" the Sheriff asked, looking to Derek.

 

"Of course, sir," Derek said with a firm nod.

 

Stiles hugged his father once more, hugged Scott, then Melissa, pressed a kiss to Lydia's cheek, then one to Parrish's just to annoy him, and then grabbed Derek's hand and led him upstairs.

 

Stiles hugged Derek and pressed a few light kisses to his jawline. Derek moved his mouth slightly to kiss him properly and Stiles sighed against his lips, his arms wrapped around Derek's neck. Vaguely, he heard Scott's motorbike leave a minute later; Lydia's car was next, and finally Melissa's.

 

...

 

Waiting until after he'd heard the Sheriff climb the stairs and go to his room, Derek pulled away from Stiles. "Shower and bed?" he prompted.

 

Stiles rested his head against Derek's shoulder and sighed, but after a moment, he nodded. "Yeah, I'd better. I doubt we smell great right now."

 

Derek pressed a soft yet firm kiss to Stiles' lips and then gently shoved him towards the door. "You go first; I'll wait."

 

"You could join me," Stiles suggested with a grin, his tail pulling Derek close.

 

"Your father's down the hall, Stiles."

 

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, spoilsport."

 

Derek snorted and shook his head as Stiles left for the bathroom.

 

Stiles took extra care showering. Just because he couldn't smell himself didn't mean that Derek had the same issue, and he was sure the smell of sulphur was probably overwhelming and disgusting to the werewolf's nose. He washed twice under his armpits, scrubbed his hair and scalp with his fingertips, and ran a washcloth over his dick and ass. Stiles looked down at his feet, then sighed and lifted them one at a time to clean them too. When he was sure that he was clean as the proverbial whistle, Stiles rinsed off with a cooler stream of water, and then turned off the tap.

 

Stepping out of the shower, he tugged his towel off the rack and dried his hair. Pulling the towel off his head, he looked at his misted reflection in the steam-covered mirror. He couldn't be bothered wiping a line off to look at himself properly, so just dried his shoulders and wrapped the towel around his waist. Bending to pick up his discarded clothes, Stiles eeped and jumped back when he saw a dark flash of movement under his shirt.

 

"Derek! There's a mouse in the bathroom, you've gotta save me! Or it's a killer spider or some shit. Help!" he called, trying to be mindful of his father sleeping down the hall.

 

Derek was in the bathroom a heartbeat later, and Stiles practically shoved Derek towards his clothes so he could get out to the hallway that much faster.

 

"Don't kill it! Its family will come for revenge!" he said over his shoulder.

 

Derek sniffed and looked around the bathroom, eyebrows burrowed. "There's nothing in here, Stiles. I'd smell a rat or spider; there's nothing there."

 

Derek lifted each piece of Stiles' clothes to shake them out, just to be sure, and Stiles winced with every one.

 

"I _swear_ I saw something," Stiles said.

 

Derek could hear his heartbeat, but would have believed him anyway, and he nodded. "I believe you, Stiles. I'll keep an eye out when I'm showering."

 

"Maybe I should stay in there with you. What if it's a _huge_ spider?"

 

"Then I'll be able to deal with it easier without your screaming."

 

"Hey! I wouldn't... well... I'm going to bed, screw you."

 

"Tomorrow," Derek said, cheeks pink as he kissed Stiles.

 

It took a moment for Stiles' brain to catch up and by the time he realised just what Derek had implied, the bathroom door had been closed on him. Scowling at his tease of a boyfriend, Stiles went back to his bedroom.

 

The shadow clung to the tip of Stiles' tail and swung back and forth with its movements.

 

...

 

Stiles changed into a pair of pyjama bottoms, curling his tail out around his waist so it wouldn't get caught in the elastic waistband. The shadow clung to his hand and Stiles let out a yelp of surprise at the cool feeling against his skin. His heart hammered in his chest, barely drowning out the sound of the bathroom door slamming open. Derek was in his doorway, naked and dripping wet a second later. Stiles stared for a good long moment, then threw his towel at Derek when he heard his father's door open.

 

"Uh. I think one of those shadows from Hell followed us?" Stiles said, holding out his arm.

 

Derek covered himself before the Sheriff made his way to Stiles' bedroom. Stiles opened his drawer, coaxed the shadow into it, and slammed it shut a moment before John arrived.

 

"I'm glad you're back, boys, but you do realise what an _early_ morning shift means?" John murmured, bleary eyed and tired.

 

"Sorry, Dad. I saw a mouse."

 

Derek scowled at Stiles for lying, but he glared back in return; _there was no way his father was going to handle a shadowy soul from Hell - he'd barely been able to handle Hell! - and he was not going to be responsible for his heart attack after spending so much time keeping him healthy_.

 

"A mouse?" John echoed, eyebrow raised in disbelief.

 

Stiles nodded firmly, and beside him, Derek reluctantly did the same. Stiles stepped forward and hugged his father. "Go back to bed, Pops. I'll be quiet."

 

"As a mouse?" John asked, a somewhat exhausted and hysterical laugh escaping.

 

"Dad, go to bed," Stiles said gently.

 

"You too," John said, looking between them and frowning slightly at Derek's wet state. He just shook his head and went back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 

Derek realised he'd left the shower running and hurried back to turn off the tap. While he was gone, Stiles looked into his sock drawer to find the shadow. He put his hand in the drawer, the cool shadow immediately curling around his fingers.

 

"Okay. Taking you to Deaton tomorrow. Stay in there. Good shadow," Stiles said.

 

The shadow purred, as if happy at the praise.

 

Stiles blinked.

 

 _The shadow had_ purred. _Holy shit_.

 

"Nope. Nope, nope, _no_ ," Stiles muttered under his breath, closing the drawer on the shadow.

 

"What happened?" Derek asked, walking into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

 

"Nope. Not dealing with that tonight. Bed. Cuddles and bed," Stiles muttered, tugging Derek towards the bed.

 

"Can I put briefs on first?"

 

"Only if you do it quickly."

 

Derek snorted and tugged his hand out of Stiles' grip, opening his drawer to get his underwear out. He pulled them on, then climbed onto the bed, Stiles curling up next to him.

 

"We're home safe. Sleep now," Derek murmured, kissing Stiles' forehead.

 

He wrapped his arm around Stiles' body, his hand splayed across his back and Stiles' tail wound its way around their waists. Derek waited until Stiles had fallen asleep before he let himself relax fully and closed his eyes to sleep as well.

 

...

 

End of the fifth chapter.

 

Thanks for reading! 


	6. Chapter 6

"It's _purring_ , Deaton."

 

"Yes, I can see that, Stiles. What exactly do you suggest I do?"

 

"I don't know; get rid of it, send it back to Hell? Anything that doesn't involve the shadow doing... the things that Hell shadows do to people."

 

"Well, they don't technically _do_ anything. Not on this plane of existence, at least."

 

Stiles frowned, looking from Deaton to the shadow that was wound around his wrist and still purring happily enough. "Then why did it follow me back here?"

 

"It seems to have taken a liking to you."

 

"It's a _shadow_."

 

"That doesn't mean it can't like you," Deaton replied with a brief shrug.

 

"I almost think I liked you better when you were attempting to be mysterious," Stiles muttered.

 

Deaton didn't look impressed.

 

"Wait. If it has the capacity to like me, does that mean it has a capacity to feel things like hunger and thirst too? Do I have to feed it or water it like a plant or something? I'm warning you now: I've killed three cacti before," Stiles added, pointing at Deaton.

 

"It's the shadow of a soul; I'm not sure it _needs_ anything. But treating it right can't hurt."

 

"Uh-huh. And what does _right_ mean when a shadow of a soul is involved?"

 

"Treating it better than your cacti would be a start," Deaton said.

 

"Yep, it's official. I _definitely_ liked you better when you were being mysterious," Stiles muttered.

 

"I have clients due to arrive soon and as their Pomeranian is skittish enough, I would prefer it if the shadow wasn't here when they arrived," Deaton said. "I've told you as much as I know."

 

"All right, we're going. C'mon, little non-binary dude," Stiles cooed, his tail stretching out to the table where the shadow was sitting patiently.

 

"Doesn't calling it 'dude' imply that it's male?" Derek asked on the way out, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

"Everything and everyone is dude."

 

"Of course," Derek said, rolling his eyes.

 

"Well, you think of a better name, and I'll call the little dude that."

 

Derek fell silent as they got in the car and he started driving back to the Stilinski residence.

 

"Can't think of a name, huh?" Stiles asked, snickering.

 

"I'm thinking of too many names; none of them seem to fit."

 

"Eh, I don't think it'll care. Oh hey, look at the rainbow!"

 

"I'm driving, Stiles."

 

"But it's so pretty. You're missing out on the prettiness," Stiles said, ducking his head to get a better view.

 

"I'm sure I'll see another rainbow again in my lifetime."

 

"You definitely sure about that? I mean, with our lives, it might be the last rainbow you'll ever get to see and you missed it," Stiles said.

 

Derek didn't believe it for a moment, but he did sneak a look over to the rainbow. Stiles grinned in the reflection of the window.

 

"What's the shadow doing?" Derek asked, realising it wasn't on Stiles' tail anymore.

 

"Hmm? Oh, there you are," Stiles said, seeing the shadow stretched out on the dashboard.

 

The shadow stretched itself in a curve and gave a trilling purr.

 

"I think it's trying to tell us something. This is going to be the worst game of charades ever," Stiles said with a groan.

 

"Rainbow," Derek said suddenly.

 

"We've already established that -"

 

"The shadow, Stiles. I think it's trying to be a rainbow. Maybe it'll like that as a name?"

 

"Oh. Okay, I stand corrected: that was the fastest game of charades ever," Stiles said as the shadow - apparently now called Rainbow; _maybe it had a sense of irony?_ \- purred happily and curled up on the dashboard, content. "How the hell did you guess it was a rainbow? I would've gone with bridge or something."

 

"We're talking about rainbows, the shadow responded. It wasn't that hard to figure out," Derek replied with a shrug.

 

"You're a regular Sherlock Holmes. Any other deductions you'd like to make?" Stiles asked coyly, sending a wave of pheromones towards Derek.

 

" _Fuck me_ ," Derek breathed as the scent barrelled into him, as subtle as a freight train.

 

"Excellent idea."

 

...

 

When they entered the loft, Rainbow began an earnest exploration of the new area, leaving them alone as fast as possible. Derek barely had time to close the door behind them before Stiles launched himself at him, kissing and nipping at his lips.

 

"Bed. Now," Stiles murmured, his tail wrapping around Derek's waist.

 

"Gladly," Derek said in return, but he didn't move just yet, taking a moment to press kisses to Stiles' neck and breathe in his scent.

 

"I miss your smell," Stiles said with a sigh, then he bit down on the curve of Derek's shoulder to draw blood, lapping it up with broad licks.

 

"Well, according to time here, more than a month has already passed; you might get your sense of smell back even sooner than you realise," Derek said consolingly, stroking Stiles' sides.

 

"Ooh, good point. Think we should go back to Hell for a few more months?"

 

"No."

 

"Kidding, Derek," Stiles said, kissing him.

 

Derek held onto Stiles a little tighter than necessary, burying his face against the crook of his neck. "Too soon for that sort of joke, Stiles," he said, his voice muffled.

 

"Yeah, you're right; sorry. Come on, we'll go upstairs and you can fuck me."

 

"I thought... I'd like you to top this time," Derek said, pulling away from his neck, his cheeks and ears pink.

 

"Gladly," Stiles said with a warm smile, pressing a kiss to Derek's knuckles and leading him upstairs.

 

Stiles turned and kissed Derek firmly, his arms wrapping around his neck, drawing out their kisses to slow and languid brushes of lips, sliding of tongues. Derek melted into his touch and kiss, revelling the way Stiles could always make him feel loved and safe. Stiles' tail wrapped around his waist again, tugging him close and pressing Derek up against the firm line of Stiles' body. Derek felt his body relax even further at Stiles' touch, the feel of his tail wrapped around his waist, grounding him and - oddly enough - making him feel safe and loved. Then Stiles' tail slipped into his pants, stroking along his skin and the curve of his ass, and Derek felt a strong surge of desire flowing through him as well.

 

Stiles undressed Derek slowly, his hands splaying across Derek's chest and shoulders, fingers trailing along the bumps and curves of his skin delicately, a wake of goosebumps following. Derek didn't even realise that he was naked until they were on the bed, the fabric cool against his warm skin. He tugged Stiles down for another kiss, then watched as his mate undressed as fast as possible, Stiles' tail steadying him against the bedhead when he almost tripped over his pants leg.

 

"Hey, don't laugh," Stiles said, seeing the grin on Derek's face. "I'll teach you," he muttered, pressing on the dimple in Derek's chin until his mouth opened obediently.

 

Guiding his tail into Derek's open mouth, Stiles began a slow, torturous back and forth motion, watching as Derek's eyes fluttered shut as Stiles' tail fucked his mouth. The length of his tail fed into Derek's mouth a little deeper and Derek moaned as it hit the back of his throat.

 

"Good boy," Stiles murmured.

 

Derek clutched at the mattress at the unexpected praise and what it _did_ to him. It was obvious to Stiles that Derek liked the praise, his body tense and his cock standing at attention, a flush spreading across his torso, ears, and cheeks.

 

"Like that, do you?" Stiles asked, stroking Derek's cheeks gently. "My good 'wolf. You're so good for me," he added truthfully, his heart beating steady at its usual mile-a-minute pace.

 

Derek felt boneless, his mind slipping away to a place of peace and love, the scent and sounds of both surrounding him completely. He wasn't entirely aware of the pitiful sound he made when Stiles slowly pulled his tail from his mouth.

 

"Don't be upset, babe. You'll get my tail again soon," Stiles promised, kissing Derek's reddened and swollen lips. "Now, on the bed so I can fuck you," he added, winking.

 

Derek fell back onto the mattress, licking his lips as he watched Stiles watch him.

 

"You want me to fuck you like that instead?" Stiles asked.

 

Derek thought about it for a moment, then finally turned over and crawled up onto the bed. His ass was practically in Stiles' face, who couldn't resist the temptation. Stiles leaned over to press a kiss to one of his cheeks before Derek repositioned himself on the mattress properly, his head cushioned against his arms and his hips raised into the air.

 

"Just relax while I get ready, okay, babe?" Stiles asked, placing a warm hand on Derek's hip, squeezing gently before going to the bedside table for lube and a condom.

 

Derek listened absent-mindedly, his mind still in that warm place that he didn't want to leave just yet, and blinked back to reality when he felt Stiles' hands on his cheeks, his tail sneaking between their legs to wrap around his cock. Derek didn't know if it was wet from his mouth or if Stiles had added lube, but it felt slick against his cock either way.

 

"You look amazing, babe," Stiles murmured, peppering kisses along Derek's lower back, his ass, reaching down to press another kiss to his thighs before making his way back up.

 

He spread Derek's cheeks and licked against his hole firmly, Derek breathing in sharply beneath him. Derek felt Stiles smile against his skin and squirmed back, wanting more.

 

"Patience," Stiles murmured, breath warm against his skin and hole.

 

Without warning, Stiles' tail, which had been a warm and reassuring weight along his cock, started to stroke firmly. Derek groaned, muffling the sound against his arm.

 

"Don't. I want to hear you," Stiles said, squeezing his cheeks gently.

 

His tail stroked upwards again, curving along the tip of Derek's cock, and this time he didn't muffle the groan that escaped him. Stiles smiled again and kissed Derek's cheeks in turn before starting to lick and lather his hole in time with his tail.

 

The combination of Stiles' tongue and tail made Derek's legs tremble, his body shaking as he tried to hold himself up through willpower alone, since his strength had all but left him. Derek felt as though every lick, every stroke, was designed to ruin him. He didn't mind that at all, so long as they kept going. He writhed back on Stiles' tongue, tried to buck forward into his tail's grasp, and tried to keep himself upright as well. Stiles seemed to be single-minded on his task of rimming Derek, his fingers and tongue stretching him, and Derek was _this close_ to orgasming when Stiles pulled away abruptly. The noise Derek made in response was new even to his own ears.

 

"I know, babe, I know. But you did want me to fuck you, didn't you? Do you still want that?" Stiles asked when Derek just breathed haggardly without a response.

 

"Y-yes," he finally managed, voice hoarse and trembling as much as his arms.

 

"Relax, babe. You're shaking like a leaf," Stiles murmured, stroking hands over Derek's ass and thighs, obviously not knowing what that was doing to Derek.

 

"Fuck," Derek hissed, eyes filtering to gold.

 

Stiles' tail was still stroking him at the same pace without speeding up or slowing down, and it stayed firm and slick; it was the best kind of torture.

 

Just when Derek felt like he might combust from pure need - his body was still trembling, Stiles hands were still stroking, as was his tail, and Derek had given up on holding himself up, simply faceplanting into the pillow - Stiles guided his cock into Derek's ass. Just the tip.

 

"Fuck me," Derek groaned, begged, trying and failing to move back against Stiles, to get more of him.

 

"I'm getting there, Der," Stiles teased.

 

He leaned over Derek's back ever so slowly, his hands stroking along Derek's ribs now, fingers light and teasing, and eased his way into Derek's hole gently, a slight stretch in comparison to his fingers and tongue.

 

"Better now?" Stiles asked, his voice close to Derek's ear, their bodies parallel to each other.

 

"Mmm," Derek managed in response, trying not to let the pillow muffle him.

 

"That's good. Just relax, Der. I'm going to take care of you," Stiles promised, moving to a kneeling position again, his hands stroking long and certain lines down Derek's back, swooping in from his shoulder blades and down his spine.

 

Stiles' hands were warm and firm, and Derek felt himself slipping back into that warm and loved space as he had before, his body going limp under Stiles' ministrations.

 

"You're amazing," Stiles' voice filtered through to him, his praise becoming sharp and clear when Stiles began to move his hips, thrusting his cock into Derek with careful, measured movements.

 

Derek couldn't bring himself to respond, the ability to form words escaping him, and so he could do only three things: breathe, listen, and hold on. He felt as though Stiles was driving into him with every thrust, his cock brushing against his prostate with nearly every motion. He vaguely heard the words of love and trust and desire that Stiles' spoke, but with his breathing, intense and shuddering, he scented every emotion that Stiles was feeling, conveying in his words. He had a feeling that if he could scent pheromones the way Stiles could, he would be able to smell everything even clearer then. His werewolf was howling in desire, baring its neck for their mate, exposing its stomach in the most ultimate show of love and trust that the animal could muster. With the feel of Stiles' fingers digging into his hips, the words of love washing over him, the firm thrusts of Stiles' cock inside of him, the emotions that were pouring out and surrounding them, it all combined and rose in a wave, crashing down and overwhelming Derek completely, throwing him off the edge of a cliff and drowning him in the waves below.

 

"I love you, Derek," Stiles whispered, the words sounding as though they were shouted, and pulling Derek up above the waves to surface in a calm sea.

 

Derek didn't notice that Stiles had orgasmed and barely noticed his own orgasm, let alone Stiles biting him to take his fill. He only noticed that Stiles had turned him around to face him because then they were looking at each other, Stiles smiling down at Derek's expression with a sweat-covered smile. Derek felt as though he was drifting in a pleasant _calm_ place where it was only the two of them, their hearts beating, and their hands entwined.

 

Stiles' tail had uncurled as Derek had orgasmed and caught every drop that leaked from the tip of his cock. Now, with Derek so pliant and boneless, Stiles' tail easily fed into his warm mouth, letting Derek suck it clean. Stiles watched as Derek lazily sucked on his tail, his eyes hooded and glazed. He looked down at their cocks, close together now they were facing each other, though Derek's had swelled to a knot beneath the tight curl of Stiles' tail. Stiles wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking in the same way his tail had for Derek, watching his boyfriend's face and he dozed and sucked lazily beneath him.

 

When Stiles' second, third, and fourth orgasms came in the next fifteen minutes, his tail collected the ensuing cum and let Derek lick it clean again. Stiles felt a pleasured tremble from his tail, which was _definitely_ enjoying having Derek's mouth around it.

 

"Hey, come on, that's enough," Stiles murmured when he knew his tail was clean and practically shining.

 

His tail seemed reluctant to leave Derek's warm mouth, but it curled around Stiles' waist anyway, satisfied and thrumming with pleasure.

 

"Fuck, babe, look at you. I'm going to get us cleaned up and then we're cuddling for the rest of the night, okay?" Stiles murmured, pressing a few soft kisses to Derek's spit-shiny mouth.

 

Derek closed his eyes, listening to Stiles and his heartbeat as he went to the bathroom, returning with a warm damp cloth to clean them and his tail. Derek licked his lips, tasting Stiles on his tongue, and let his mate clean and take care of him, just as he'd promised to do.

 

Stiles returned from another trip with several fluffy _soft_ blankets bundled up in his arms. He moved Derek easily, who was still pliant but not a dead weight, and then settled onto the bed beside him, wrapping both an arm and his tail around Derek, anchoring him firmly.

 

"Such a good 'wolf," Stiles said, kissing him and smiling warmly.

 

"Your good 'wolf," Derek replied sleepily, his eyes closing.

 

"Mine," Stiles echoed, smiling and snuggling down next to his mate.

 

...

 

The end.

 

Thanks for reading; I hope you liked it!


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